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VOLUME 2, NUMBER 1 SUMMER 2005

A Further Consideration of Galdosian Cultural Nicknames: Mythological, Legendary,

and Historical Personages Vernon A. Chamberlin

Galdós’s use of nicknames has been addressed both directly and indirectly in various studies,1 but much remains to be noted about how historical, legendary, and mythological personages served as source material for sobriquets to designate Galdosian characters. So important were these nicknames to Galdós’s artistry that he would sometimes change the apodo in the Alpha manuscript to a different one in the final printed version. Moreover, the history-based nicknames, which do so much to enliven Galdós’s novels and Episodios are a feature in common with other nineteenth-century novelists, most notably Alas, Pereda, and Pardo Bazán.

The purpose of the present study is to elucidate Galdos’s use of mythological, legendary, and historical nicknames which have not been previously treated.2 Our discussions will proceed in accord with the following chronological and geographic designations: 1) Ancient Egypt, Greece, and Rome; 2) Ancient Israel and Early Christianity; 3) Medieval Spain; 4) Early Modern Spain; 5) Contemporary Europe (excluding Spain). Ancient Egypt

The mummy of one of the most prominent of all Egyptian pharoahs, Ramses II, was discovered in 1881 and received much publicity.3 Certainly Galdós was aware of this event, because six years later in Fortunata y Jacinta he bestows this name as an apodo upon his character Ramón Villaamil. Galdós’s “Ramsés II” makes his appearance in Part III, as one of the nightly tertulianos in the costumbrista café ambience frequented by Juan Pablo Rubín. The narrator affirms:

[ . . . ] su piel era como la cáscara de un limón podrido, sus ojos de espectro, y cuando se acercaba a la mesa de los espiritistas, parecía uno de aquellos seres muertos hace miles de años, que vienen ahora por estos barrios, llamados por el toque de la pata de un velador. El clima de Cuba y Filipinas le había dejado en los huesos, y como era todo él una pura

Chamberlin 2

mojama, relumbraban en su cara las miradas de tal modo que le parecía que iba a comer a la gente. A un guasón se le ocurrió llamarle Ramsés II, y cayó tan en gracia el mote, que Ramsés II se quedó. (III, 1, v: 35-36)

Then Galdós effects humor (by means of delightful incongruity) as he has this character seem to give an unexpected answer as he passes “con desdén junto a [la mesa de] los espiritistas”— immediately after the latter have been discussing whether or not the living can summon up the dead. Certainly Galdós wishes the reader to catch here the full significance of the nickname, for when “Ramsés II” speaks, it is “con voz de ultratumba, que salía de su garganta como un eco de las frías cavernas de una pirámide egipcia” (III, i, 5: 36).

The nickname is used at least six times. Evaristo Feijoo, a friend, uses “su nombre verdadero,” in direct address (III, iv, 8: 132), but when speaking about Villaamil, he has recourse to the nickname (III, iv, 8: 132; III, iv, 10: 149). The mote “Ramsés II” is also used four times by the narrator (III, i, 5: 36 and passim). The importance that Galdós attaches to this particular nickname becomes clear when we consider that he was willing to violate the fictional time sequence (1868-74) of Fortunata y Jacinta in order to take advantage of the public’s knowledge of an event which had not in reality occurred until later (1881). Moreover, “Ramsés II” also serves to illustrate what a vital facet of characterization nicknames sometimes are in Galdós’s artistry, for when this character reappears in Miau—but now with an entirely new focus—he has a new nickname.4 Nevertheless, with integrity of characterization and respect for author-reader bonding, Don Benito tells us that this is indeed the same Ramón Villaamil, “que en ciertas tertulias de café recibió el apodo de Ramsés II” (I, 96). That Galdós picked a lively, well-known nickname which has cultural resonance with the reading public is attested to by the fact that as recently as 1984 the contemporary novelist Rosa Montero also effectively uses “Ramsés” as a characterizing nickname in her Crónica del desamor (38-40 and passim).5 Greece

In El doctor Centeno when Alejandro Miquis befriends Felipe Centeno and becomes pleased with the latter’s dedication and usefulness, he tell him: “Todo lo haces bien. [ . . . ] Eres un sabio y debías llamarte Aristóteles. Y desde esta ocasión no le nombraba de otro modo. A cada momento se oía: «Aristóteles, dame agua con azúcar. [ . . . ] Aristóteles, frótame un poquito aquí [ . . . ] Aristóteles, ¿tienes dinero?” (II, v. 1423). Even on his death bed Miquis still speaks to his loyal friend as “Aristóteles” (II, v, 1146-47). As the novel terminates with a drama-like scene, the narrator appropriates the nickname as he places “Aristóteles” and Don José Ido in the funeral coach. Then, as they dialogue, the designation “Aristóteles” appears eighteen times in the acotaciones (II, vi, 1447-52).

The same nickname reappears in the opening scene of the sequel Tormento as two “embozados” meet and one of them soon perceives that the other is “el mismísimo Aristóteles” (I, 1455). Shortly thereafter the stage directions in this drama-like scene change from “Embozado 1o” “and “Embozado 2o” to “Aristóteles” and “Ido del Sagrario” (as had been their designations at the close of El doctor Centeno). In addition to

Chamberlin 3 the initial twenty-nine acotaciones, the narrator again uses the apodo late in the novel when Felipe has resourcefully made it impossible for Amparo to commit suicide. Now, with a more sincere and more profound emphasis than the original bestower of the nickname (Alejandro Miquis) ever intended, the narrator sincerely refers to Felipe as “el sabio Aristóteles” (XXXIV, 1555).6

The choice of the nickname “Aristóteles” is most appropriate and is very successfully employed in El doctor Centeno and Tormento. Aristotle, because of his Poetics, is reknowned as the father of theater criticism and the giver of Classical principles (“Aristotle, 165-69). Miquis, on the other hand, is a tubercular Romantic who believes that his mission on earth is to restore Spanish drama to its pre-Neoclassical grandeur. Thus in his wildly Romantic historical drama, “El Grande Osuna,” Miquis deliberately contravenes Classicism’s most basic concepts—and his use of the nickname “Aristóteles” reveals to the reader that Miquis knows very well what he is doing and whose rules he is flaunting.7 Because Centeno was often present as Miquis wrote and rewrote sections of his play, listened to Miquis read passages aloud, and gave his opinion when asked, it is understandable that he should be the one to receive the nickname. Then, when Centeno reappears in Tormento, Galdós certainly effects (almost outrageous) humor as he evokes the possibility, by means of the designation “Aristóteles,” that the father of Classicism might be one of the embozado characters in the opening, very Romantic scene of Tormento.

In Greek legend and drama Agamemnon and Electra appear as father and daughter. Such is the case in Galdós’s drama Electra, but now the title protagonist’s family is accorded three generations of classical Greek nicknames. Because the grandfather was a “militar muy valiente, desgraciadísimo en su vida conyugal, le pusieron Agamemnon.”8 Also, like the legendary Agamemnon, this person had a daughter called Electra. Galdós’s narrator explains that although the latter’s baptismal name was Eleuteria, she became “Electra,” “no sólo por abreviar, sino porque a su padre [ . . . ] le pusieron Agamemnon.” Then in the third generation, now that of Galdós’s eponymous protagonist—whose baptismal name is the same as her mother’s (Eleuteria)—the title character also comes to be known as “Electra,” “ya fuese por abreviar, ya por embellecer el nombre” (I, ii, 850). Further, the apodo “Electra” is appropriate now for one who is “tan viva como la misma electricidad, misteriosa, repentina, de mucho cuidado [ . . . y que] ilumina”—attributes which give her commonality, as Pérez de Guzmán has noted, with Máximo’s laboratory work dedicated to the harnessing and proper channelling of electrical forces (230-31). In ancient Greece three dramas entitled Electra, one each by Aescheylus, Sophocles, and Euripedies, concerned the daughter of Agamemnon. According to Stanley Finkenthal, Galdós’s play is most like that of Euripedies, primarily because it also is critical of contemporary life and attacks religious obscurantism (El teatro 136-37). Certainly, the choice of the title Electra had the potential for alerting the theatergoer of 1901 to expect drama as serious as that of ancient Greece—with early use in the play of the nicknames “Agamemnon” and “Electra” corroborating that opinion (I, ii: 849-850).9

In Casandra it is reported to Doña Juana Samaniega that one of her servants has a suitor: “Me ha dicho Paca la lavandera que le hace cucamonas un tipejo llamado «Apolo», no sé

Chamberlin 4 si por mal nombre. [ . . . ] Un carpinterillo fantasioso, que viste ropa muy ajustada . . . , ¡qué indecencia! . . . como los toreros. Todo el santo día está ese gandul calle arriba, calle abajo, midiéndome la verja del jardin . . . ” (I, 1, 119). Later one learns that it is actually another female servant who is the object of Apolo’s attentions (“es el caballero sirviente de Martina”). Further, he is a successful suitor, for another character observes him entering the palace garden at night: “[E]s el mismo «Apolo». Su ropa ceñida y su aire chulesco no mienten. [ . . . ] Esta debe ser la hora del idilio en las umbrías del parque” (III, viii, 175). The reader may be amused to encounter the use of such a classical Greco-Roman nickname in the discourse of servants and learn, moreover, that its bearer is a “carpinterillo chulesco.” However, the nickname is quite appropriate to designate the suitor, because “the handsome Apollo [the Greek god of light] was considered the ideal of manly beauty”—and the well-known Apollo Belvedere statue in the Vatican Museum in Rome certainly corroborates this notion (“Apollo” 526). Rome

Caligula is generally considered the most depraved, tryrannical, and mentally unstable of all the Roman emperors, killing and torturing many people, proclaiming himself to be a god, and even naming his horse as senator.10 Finally his own guards felt compelled to kill him. The bestowing of such an opprobrius nickname on the character Doña Cándida, viuda de García Grande, in El amigo Manso is made palatable through an evolutionary process. First, the narrator/protagonist Máximo Manso reveals that “de perfil tenía doña Cándida algo de figura romana. Era mi cínife muy semejante al Marco Aurelio de yeso que figuraba con los otros padrotes sobre mi estantería.” Next, Manso shares this opinion with his student Manuel Peña, who then gives her the nickname “Marco Aurelio.” However, this sobriquet does not long endure, because Peña “confundiendo maliciosamente aquel emperador con otro, la llamaba Calígula” (V, 1178). Discarding the initial nickname of “Marco Aurelio” in favor of the permanent mote “Calíigula” is certainly appropriate to the character presentation and delineation of Doña Cándida. The mote “Marco Aurelio” evokes a person of high moral character,11—which is the opposite of what the narrator intends for the reader to believe regarding Doña Cándida: “Brillaba en sus ojos no sé qué avidez insana, y tenía sonrisas antipáticas, propiamente secuestradoras, con más un movimiento de cabeza siempre afirmativo, el cual, no sé por qué, me revelaba incorregible purito de engañar” (V, 1178). Subsequently neither the nickname’s inventor, Manuel Peña, nor any other character, uses the sobriquet, as it passes exclusively to the narrator/protagonist. The latter uses it at least ten times to express his aggression toward and low opinion of Doña Cándida throughout the novel (V, 1201 and passim).

The nickname “Calígula,” reappears sixteen years later in Mendizábal. In this Episodio the very tall title character bears the nickname “Juan y Medio” [ . . . ] por su gigantesca estatura” (XV, 501).12 However, Mendizábal is aware that one of his opponents has preferred to give him a different nickname: “Calígula.” Far from being offended, Spain’s Ministro de Hacienda (thinking undoubtedly of the earliest period of Caligula’s reign) muses:

Chamberlin 5 “¡Calígula! Este buen señor sabe menos Historia que yo. ¡Llamarme Calígula porque me apoyo en la voluntad del pueblo, porque me inflama el amor del pueblo, porque para y con el pueblo me propongo llevar hasta el fin mis planes!” (XXX, 520).

Certainly Mendizábal did succeed in his daring plans to finance the First Carlist War by confiscating and selling off Church property.13 Typical conservative resentment against the latter action is recorded many times in Galdós’s novels. For example, Insúa in Casandra speaks of Church wealth “arrebatado por el ladrón de Mendizábal” (II, vii, 156).

Cato the Elder (234-149 B.C.) is the historical referent for Galdós’s “el Catón ultramarino,” the latter being the nickname of Aguado, a character who appears in both La incógnita and Realidad. This historical prototype was prominent in public life at a time when Greek ideas and customs, which he believed would corrupt his people, had begun to influence the Romans. Rising to high public offices, including that of censor, Cato adopted so severe a policy in his efforts to restore morals and honesty that he became known as “Cato the Censor” (“Cato” 228). This is the aspect of the Roman public servant that interested Galdós.

In La incógnita Manolo Infante reports in a letter to Equis that Augusta Cisneros has given to one of the persons attending her tertulias the nickname of “el Cato ultramarino.” The reason for the nickname is that Aguado, the “alto empleado de Cuba, cesante, no habla más que de las chanchullas de Cuba.” However, Augusta adds, “Es un catonismo el suyo de tal calidad, que cuando le oigo, me dan ganas de poner entre sus manos y mi bolsillo una pareja de la Guardia Civil” (XII, 716). Subsequently, in Realidad—as with so many aspects of La incógnita—one sees the reality behind what was presented in the preceding novel. Thus one now sees Aguado in action as he fulminates regarding the corruption in Ultramar. Additionally, Augusta tells him openly that he too participated in the corruption in Cuba, and that he would again if he returned. However, she adds—with the historically appropriate cultural echo—“no le censuro” (I, iii, 797).

Interestingly, the nickname “el Cato ultramarino” does not carry over into Realidad. Instead, other word play recalls Cato, including repeated use of the word “censor,” as well as another character’s observation, “Ahora somos muy Catones.” To the latter, Aguado replies that a better word would be “Tacones.” That is what is needed, he asserts. Not only does “Tacones” have the potential to suggest Miguel de Tacón, a former Capitán General de Cuba (1834-38) and his energetically repressive actions,14 but it is also stated that people like Aguado go to Cuba to administer “Tacones,” but end up only using a more gentle “zapatilla” (I, i, 792). Thus one sees that although Aguado is only a very minor, one-dimensional character in both La incógnita and Realidad, the use of the nickname “el Cato ultramarino”—when enriched with other references and word play—does differentiate him from other tertulianos and makes him a uniquely characterized personaje in both novels. Moreover, the bestowing of the nickname by Augusta Cisneros also adds a dimension to her characterization, confirming that, by nineteenth-century standards, she is a well-educated woman.

In Roman mythology Jupiter was not only the king of the gods, but also the deity associated with thunder and lightning. Thus in Tormento when the retired cloth merchant

Chamberlin 6 Arnáiz “el Gordo,” “hombre obeso y pletórico, decía con voz de trueno, procedido con violentos toses los conceptos más triviales [ . . . ] y era cosa de taparse los oídos,” another character prefers to change his nickname to “Júpiter tonante” (XXII, 1516). The cultural authenticity of this nickname is confirmed in Moliner, Diccionario de uso del español, which defines “tonante” as “Aplicable a lo que produce truenos. Se aplica exclusivamente a Júpiter y, particularmente a este mismo nombre: ‘Júpiter tonante’” (II, 1335).

The nickname “Júpiter” also reappears in El abuelo. Again there is a facet of external reality which serves as a stimulus for one character to bestow this nickname upon another. The Conde de Albrit asks Don Pito Coronado, “¿Quién es Júpiter?” and receives the following answer: “El farolero, señor. Se llama Jove, Pepe Jove, y yo por broma le llamo Júpiter, aunque le cuadraría más Baco, porque es el primer borracho de Jereza” (V, x, 105). Although Jupiter was the king of the gods, Galdós grants him only a one-time, passing mention in each of the two works noted above. Certainly our author shows no interest in any interplay of this nickname with other characters or with the narrator.

Cicero, the reknowned orator and very engaged politician, is the historical referent for a nickname in the Episodio entitled El Grande Oriente. The latter has as its focus the nineteenth-century Masonic Lodge in Madrid, where each member upon initiation ceases to be “Juan o Pedro,” and instead chooses for a sobriquet the name of “cualquiera personaje célebre” (VI, 1463). A case in point is that of the presiding officer, José Campos, who is known within the lodge and Masonic circles as “Cicerón.” Galdós’s narrator assures the reader that he has researched Madrid history, as well as Masonic sources, in order to be correct regarding both the identity and the Masonic apodo of this character: “José Campos era su verdadero nombre, y no anagrama impuesto por el novelador para tapar una celebridad [ . . . ] porque era director general de Correos. [ . . . ] Los anales de las logias masónicas están conformes con asegurar que Campos tenía en las logias el nombre de Cicerón” (VIII, 1467). Historical accuracy in no way prevents the narrator from contrasting the lodge’s presiding officer unfavorably with his historical prototype. In fact, Galdós’s “Cicerón” possesses “ningún mérito político ni oratorio, ni menos a batallas o sediciones” (VIII, 1467).15 He has only “los tres requisitos indispensables para medrar durante aquel período, los cuales eran: haber padecido durante el régimen absoluto [de Fernando VII], haber intervenido en la mutanza del 22 y estar afiliado en las sociedades secretas” (XII, 1479). Nevertheless, as president (and founder) of Madrid’s Masonic lodge, “Cicerón” was one of the most important people in Spain during the early 1820s and, consequently, so he is also in Galdós’s El Grande Oriente. The nickname “Cicerón” is used at least twelve times by the narrator (VIII, 1467 and passim), once by the protagonist (Salvador Monsalud) (XIII, 1484), and on one occasion Galdós’s narrator refers to the lodge’s president with the stylistic variation “Campos-Cicerón” (VIII, 1468). Contrasting Madrid’s “Cicerón” with his historical referent is one of the ways that Galdós is able conclude near the end of the Episodio that the Masons—in spite of their high-sounding sobriquets and control of many ministries and seats in the Cortes—really accomplished very little of lasting value. Moreover, “En la uña del dedo meñique de una

Chamberlin 7 mujer, Isabel la Católica, había más energía política, más potencia goberante que en todos los poetas, economistas, oradores, periodistas, abogados, y retóricos [masónicos] españoles del siglo XIX” (XXIII, 1526). Ancient Israel and early Christianity In Casandra the young male protagonist Rogelio is interested in demonology and believes that most of the novel’s major characters carry within themselves a personal demon. When he reports to another character, “Voy a ver a «Baal», a «Baalberith» el demonio clásico, el del lenguaje limpio y sonoro clásico . . . Me ha citado” (II, iii: 148) and later confirms, “yo me fuí a ver a «Baalberith», (IV, xii, 196), one sees that demons can become the referents for nicknames. This is confirmed when a scene takes place “en casa de Baalberith (Cebrián)” (V, iv: 203). Because most Spanish Christian readers might not know the specifics concerning individual Hebrew demons, there is often an explanation of the attributes of the demon.16 Climactically, in this Novela dialogada, as three characters appear and attempt to do evil, they lose their true names and become incarnations of their nicknames—as they are designated exclusively in the acotaciones as Baalberith, Thamus, and Moloc (V, vii, 210). Simultaneously not only their infernal, but also animalistic natures (V, vii-viii: 208-10) are strikingly revealed. To my knowledge, similar artistry appears in no other Galdosian novel.

Like his contemporary Pereda, Galdós has recourse to the nickname “Caifás.”17 In Nazarín Andara knows that she is being pursued by the authorities for having knifed “la Tiñosa.” However, she thinks that she still has some time to remove telltale evidence that she has been hiding in Padre Nazarín’s room, “porque [ . . . ] hasta las diez y media no llegarán los caifases” (IV, 142). In his edition of Nazarín Torres Nebrera annotates the above-quoted use of “caifases” as meaning “el juez y sus agentes judiciales” (IV, 142, n. 121). He states further that the use of this nickname is especially appropriate in this novel, where the title protagonist clearly recalls Christ, because Caifás [Caiaphas] was the high priest before whom Jesus was led before being handed over to Pontius Pilate.

Analogous appropriateness of the apodo “Caifás” may also be seen thirty-one years earlier in Gloria, where Jewish Daniel Morton’s physiognomy also recalls Christ’s. Moreover, because Galdós describes a nineteenth-century Jueves Santo procession in which “Caifás” and “los feroces judíos azotadores [a Cristo]” are depicted (II, xxii, 648), it is not surprising that here too in Gloria “Caifás” is a denigrating nickname.18 Thus José Mundideo, who participates in the procession as “Caifás con el piporro” (II, xxii, 648) is referred to in other contexts at least fifty-three times as “Caifás.” Five other characters, in addition to the narrator and Mundideo himself, employ the nickname.19

Matthew’s Gospel had predicted that the Jews would be punished for their part in the events leading up to the Crucifiction.20 Certainly Galdós’s “Caifás” has, to say the least, not been favored by heaven. He is debt-ridden, alcoholic, and has trouble providing for his three children. His lack of self-esteem, as well as his acceptance of the evaluation of others, is revealed when he refers to himself as “Caifás, el feo,” “Caifás, el malo” (I, xxv, 554), and then after repeating the foregoing, he adds, “Caifás, el idiota” (I, xxxiv, 574).

Chamberlin 8 Critics are in general agreement that in Gloria Galdós reversed many of the nineteenth-century Spanish stereotypes concerning the Jews by making his altruistic male protagonist a Jew, at the same time as he stigmatizes in various ways many of the anti-Semitic Christian establishment characters.21 It is in this same innovative vein that Galdós chooses to make reversals concerning the historical referent Caiaphas and his actions as recorded in all four Gospels.22 Thus Galdós’s “Caifás” is not the High Priest of the Temple in Jerusalem, but rather the lowly sextant in the village church. And it is the Christian priest, Silvestre Romero, who aggresses “Caifás” by slandering him and driving him from his sextant’s post. Moreover, “Caifás” is not one of the two powerful people most responsible for Christ’s death. Instead Galdós’s “Caifás” is a lowly unfortunate, most generously befriended by the Christ-resembling Jewish male protagonist. Nevertheless, under the pressure of his confessor, and buttressed by his sorrow regarding Gloria’s pregnancy, “Caifás” does ultimately return Daniel’s gift of money and, most importantly, denies him friendship. Thus one sees that as Galdós wrote a novel of religious thesis—with its climax during Holy Week and its denouement on Easter morning—he skillfully created an ambiance recalling the events of Christ’s final days. Because the High Priest Caiaphas was a major participant in those events, Galdós evokes memory of that personage by creating a Christian character at great ironical distance from the historical prototype and has him interact in interestingly innovative ways with the Christ-resembling male protagonist, as well as with other characters (who also use his nickname). Giving José Mundideo the mote of “Caifás” is a very important and successful aspect of Galdós’s art in Gloria, and a sobriquet which certainly rings culturally true.

Like Leopoldo Alas, who successfully used the nickname “El Gran Constantino” in La Regenta,23 Galdós was also interested in using nickname-referents from early Christianity. Such is the case in Torquemada y San Pedro, where the eponymous moneylender explains to the family chaplain why he has nicknamed him “San Pedro”: it is because the priest looks exactly like a man to whom Torquemada gave a cloak years earlier (in Torquemada en la hoguera). That individual resembled the statue of St. Peter in Torquemada’s parish church; and Torquemada (and other moneylenders) had a special devotion to the saint24—whom the chaplain also resembles. However, there is a more transcendental significance to the nickname, because St. Peter is generally considered heaven’s gatekeeper. Catholic doctrine affirms and the Papal coat of arms illustrates that (as successor to Peter) the Church has the keys to heaven.25 Thus Father Gamborena can agree with Torquemada that the Church does indeed have the “llaves” and that as a minister of the Church he does also (II, v, 1159). Consequently, a great deal of the novel’s action (and humor) is concentrated in the struggle between the colorful moneylender and his confessor—as the former literally tries to buy his way into heaven. Climactically Father Gamborena has to tell Torquemada, “No piense en las llaves, y dígame con brevedad si son sinceros sus deseos de entrar, si ama a Jesús y anhela el ser con El, si reconoce sus pecados, el vicio infame de la avaricia, la crueldad con los inferiores [ . . . ]” (III, x, 1194). However, even when Torquemada dies uttering the word “conversión,” his “San Pedro” cannot be sure whether or not Torquemada is referring to spiritual belief or the national debt.

Certainly in Torquemada y San Pedro Galdós employs a nickname which rings culturally true, one that develops into a delightful stream of humor, and one that is important

Chamberlin 9 enough to merit inclusion in the novel’s title. Being the invention of Torquemada, the remoquete “San Pedro” is used exclusively by him (at least seven times) until his final illness and death. Then it is picked up by the narrator on Torquemada’s behalf as the latter has a stream-of-consciousness vision of heaven (III, ix, 1194). Finally, the narrator uses the nickname a second and last time as he refers to Father Gamborena as a contrasting, non-vision “San Pedro de acá” (III, x, 1196). Stylistic variations are minimal but amusing: Torquemada refers to the family chaplain as “San Perico” (I, xv, 1146), but in direct address he switches to “Señor San Pedro” (III, v, 1183 and passim ) or “señor San Pedro de mi alma” (III, v, 1183). Finally, as was the case with a nickname which Torquemada had bestowed earlier upon another character in Fortunata y Jacinta,26 the sobriquet “San Pedro” tells us more about the nicknamer than the nicknamee. Medieval and early modern Spain

Like Pardo Bazán, who utilized the apodos “Laín Calvo” and “Nuño Rasura” in Morriña (III, 208),27 Galdós also had recourse to nickname referents from Medieval Spanish history. The Episodio Nacional entitled Juan Martín, el Empecinado has as its focus the guerrilla struggle against the occupation of Spain by Napoleon Bonaparte. Among the partisans are three university students from Alcalá de Henares’s Universidad Complutense: “Viriato,” “Cid Campeador,” and “Pelayo.” The narrator/protagonist’s curiosity concerning the bearers of these “apodos, pues apodos eran” is satisfied when he meets the eldest (Aniceto Tortuero). The latter explains that he has chosen for himself the nickname of “Viriato”—“en memoria del más grande y más célebre guerrillero que hemos tenido” (III, 967). Galdós’s narrator feels no need to explain that Viriato was the Lusitanian warrior who successfully carried out guerrilla warfare against the Romans.28

However, Galdós’s “Viriato” does not distinguish himself. Rather he even causes dissention by his “chismes y enredos” concerning the feminine partisan Damiana Fernández, who accuses him of attempted seduction (XIII, 1004). The nickname “Viriato” is used at least nine times by the narrator and twice each by the characters “Mosca Verde” (IV, 973) and Doña Damiana (VIII, 984). It is “Viriato” who has given to his fellow student volunteers the nicknames of “El Cid Campeador” and “Pelayo” (III, 967).

The sobriquet “El Cid Campeador” was chosen, says “Viriato,” because the former is “más bravo que un toro,” and he will, hopefully, participate in the conquest of Valencia “como el otro Cid” (III, 967). However, this character, “con voz y gestos infantiles” (III, 967), is not seen doing anything more important than distributing brandy (VIII, 983), and later annoying the guerrillera Damiana, when he becomes jealous because he thinks that she prefers “Pelayo” (XIII, 1004). “Pelayo” is the third student volunteer, and his apodo derives from the Gothic king who initiated the reconquest of Spain from the Moors with his victory at Covadonga in 722. Galdós’s “Pelayo” has his nickname explicated when “Viriato” states, “[A]hí está mi amigo el príncipe de sangre goda D.Pelayo. [ . . . ] Púsele el nombre de Pelayo por lo venerable y augusto de su persona. ¡Vean ustedes qué majestad de sus movimientos, qué mirar regio!” The narrator/protagonist, however, hastens to undercut “Viriato’s” evaluation: “Le miramos, y en efecto, su fisionomía era la

Chamberlin 10 del pillete más redondo y pulido que han dado de sí claustros universitarios, porterías de conventos, mesones y posadas de estudiantes more tunesca” (III, 967).

The latter evaluation turns out to be the more accurate. In the three brief reappearances of “Pelayo,” one sees no actions recalling those of his historical referent.29 Rather, he betrays a confidential letter entrusted to him by the protagonist. Then, in a major reappearance during the climax and denouement of the novel, “Pelayo” betrays his fellow countrymen and goes over to the French. Additionally, he helps kidnap the fiancée of the narrator/protagonist; and, when the fortunes of war turn, he brazenly seeks reintegration into the Spanish forces, “riendo con toda la desvergüenza tunesca de las universidades de aquel tiempo” (XXX, 1049).

Thus one sees that there is great contrast between all three student partisans and their illustrious prototypes. Undoubtedly, Galdós is being quite realistic when he records that many students were glad to desert their university classrooms and respond to the patriotic excitement of guerrilla warfare—often entering combat still in university garb. Moreover, such students could be a nuisance for the commanders, he shows, and might be assigned to work with female officers. Galdós makes all this more interesting and enjoyable for the reader with his use of highsounding historical apodos, which markedly contrast with the students’ nonheroic behavior.

Ironic distance from the historical prototype Pelayo is again employed, but with a different character, two years later in the Episodio entitled El Grande Oriente. We have already noted (in the case of “Cicerón”) that upon joining Madrid’s Masonic Lodge each person had to choose as his personal lodge sobriquet the name of some famous person. One such member is “Pelayo” (which is his only appellation in the novel). Certainly he has physical attributes worthy of the famous medieval hero who began the Reconquest of Spain from the Moors: “[C]abeza admirable, abultada y lobulosa; ojos grandes y hermosos; una frente a la cual no faltaba sino el laurel para ser olímpica; expresión grave y tono sentencioso en la voz” (XXIII, 1522). However, once again (as we saw in Juan Martín, el Empecinado) the narrator immediately undercuts the presentation and establishes an unfavorable comparison with the historical referent. Galdós’s heavy-set character “[C]arecía de soltura, gracia y flexibilidad; pero en cambio, parecía poseedor de una gran energía. ¡Lástima que esta energía, circunscrita al entendimiento y al estro poético, no trascendiese a la voluntad!” (XXIII, 1522). Thus one sees that Galdós was consistent in his utilization of the nickname “Pelayo” in the two Episodios. In both he records quotidian realism: enthusiastic university student volunteers in the guerrilla movement against Napoleon often had illustrious nicknames, as did every member of Madrid’s Masonic lodge. However, Galdós goes beyond the recording of realism in each novel to effect ironical distance between the character and his illustrious referent. In El Grande Oriente one mention of the sobriquet suffices, for Galdós wishes to show that the liberal Masons, even with their high-sounding lodge remoquetes, such as “Pelayo” and our earlier-mentioned “Cicerón,” turned out (as we have said) to have no lasting effects on Spanish politics and national government. In Juan Martín, el Empecinado, however, the nickname “Pelayo” gets more extensive employment:

Chamberlin 11 at least four times by the narrator and five times by other characters. In both Episodios the narrator undercuts the initial positive presentation, but only in Juan Martín does he have “Pelayo” engage in conduct which confirms the devaluation. Early modern Spain

One of the most reknowned of all Spanish paintings is El Greco’s El entierro del Conde Orgaz (1586-88). In this work a prominent feature of the artist’s manierista technique is the elongated faces of all the people presented.30 Throughout El caballero encantado, as part of the enchanted protagonist’s re-education, La Madre (the spirit of Spain) has been putting Tarsis-Gil in contact with important facets of the country’s history and culture. Her facilitating remembrance of El Greco’s best known painting is an example in point. Late in the novel at her dining table only one person attracts the protagonist’s attention: “Tan sólo el prócer de macilenta faz ostentaba cierto aire de indefinible principalía. Recordando el cuadro del Greco, Gil le bautizó con el nombre de Conde Orgaz.” Only one further use of the nickname occurs, as the narrator says, “Siguióle el Conde de Orgaz y otros que algo se semejaban a creaciones del Greco por sus místicos rostros” (XXV, 334). The use of such a sobriquet by the protagonist (which is not picked up by other characters) suggests that he has become sensitized to and accepting of yet another aspect of Spanish cultural history. Moreover, the nickname is one that rings culturally true, enhancing enjoyment for the elitist reader.

In Tristana the eponymous protagonist’s exploiter Juan López Garrido changes his given name to Lope. The narrator explains:

aquel sonoro don Lope era [ . . . ] como un precioso afeite aplicado a embellecer la personalidad; y tan bien caía en su cara enjuta, de líneas firmes y nobles, y tan buen acomodo hacía el nombre con la espigada tiesura del cuerpo, con la nariz de caballete, con su despegada frente y sus ojos vivísimos, con el mostacho entrecano y la perilla corta, tiesa y provocativa, que el sujeto no se podía llamar de otra manera. O había que matarle o decirle don Lope. (I, 104)

However, as don Lope’s health fails and his power over the women in his household lessens, first Saturna and then Tristana dare to express their personal aggression by calling him “Don Lepe”—but never to his face. The nickname first appears as Tristana writes Horacio: “Saturna no le llama sino don Lepe y así yo le llamaré tambíen” (XV, 206). And she does (XV, 1576). However, her ambivalence toward her exploiter prevents her from being as consistent as Saturna. On one occasion she even uses both “don Lope” and “pobre don Lepe” in a single epistolary paragraph (XVIII, 226). Thus one sees that even the use of a nickname aids in communicating to and preparing the reader for the fact that Tristana will never be emotionally prepared to leave her exploiter. Although “Lepe” has positive connotations, for Galdos’s character it is also a denigrating nickname. Whereas Lope’s own change of name (from Juan to Lope) was prestige enhancing, Saturna and Tristana’s nickname for him is just the opposite. Indeed the sobriquet is capable of evoking the well-known saying “Saber más que Lepe,” which connotates “ser muy perspicaz y advertido” (“Lepe” XX, 63), and thus it is appropriate to Galdós’s

Chamberlin 12 characterization of Lope. However, the appellation also can also suggest the historical personage who occasioned the above-mentioned dicho: Bishop Lepe y Disantes. The latter was well known not only for his learning and astuteness, but most especially for his Catecismo católico. Thus the reader is treated to the good fun of seeing Lope get a (secret) verbal comeuppance, as the appellation that the old man had so strongly insisted on changing not only undergoes an involuntary metamorphosis, but now also becomes one which can also suggest an association with clericalism—a phenomenon which Lope abominated. Confirmation of the connotations described above may be found in Nazarín. When the eponymous protagonist complains to his landlady, “tía Chanfaina,” that he has been robbed, she replies:

En su casa entran Lepe y Lepijo, entran también hijas de malas madres, unas para contarle a usted sus pecados, es un suponer, otras para que empeñe o desempeñe, y pedirle limosna, y volverle loco. No repara en quién entra a verle, y a todos y a todas les pone buena cara y les echa las buenaventuranzas. ¿Qué sucede? Que éste le engaña, la otra se ríe, y entre todos le quitan hasta los pañales. (II, 92)

In his edition of Nazarín Gregorio Torres Nebrera annotates Lepe y Lepijo: “‘gente muy astuta’, es decir, gente que ‘sabe más que Lepe, Lepijo y su hijo’, que es la formulación más frecuente del dicho popular, y con el que se alude a don Pedro de Lepe, Obispo de Calahorra, del siglo xv, y autor de un conocido Catecismo católico” (II, 92, n. 53).

Contemporary Europe (excluding Spain)

Maximilien François Marie Isidore de Robespierre was the most famous leader of the Terror phase of the French Revolution, which sent thousands to the guillotine. In El audaz the worst events of that revolution are reviewed for Galdós’s protagonist (Martín Muriel) by a hallucinating character (José de la Zarza), who is nicknamed “tío Robispier [ . . . ] corrupción del de Robespierre” (III, 252). La Zarza’s mental illness was occasioned by the fact that he was imprisoned during the Revolution and he believes that not only is he still living in France during the Terror, but that he is even collaborating with Robespierre. The latter belief is the origin of the nickname, because as another character explains, “[A]sí le llamamos porque siempre está con ese nombre en la boca” (II, 252). The encounter with “el tío Robespier” has a chilling effect on Galdós’s protagonist and underscores the danger of his own anti-establishment efforts—and is the origen of the chapter’s title: “La Sombra de Robespierre” (III, 251). Most importantly, the encounter foreshadows the fate of the protagonist himself, who will also become mentally ill after the failure of his own revolutionary coup, and will—from his prison cell—utter the novel’s final, emotionally-packed, horrifying words: “Yo soy Robespierre” (XXXI, iii, 404).31

In Leopoldo Alas’s La Regenta (1884) when the priest Fermín de Pas becomes more important than his bishop, in elite circles he is accorded the compliment of “el Antonelli de Vetusta” (I, 573). This sobriquet insinuates a parallelism of Fermín’s achievements and power in Vetusta with those of the recent (and ruthlessly ambitious) Secretary of State at the Vatican, Cardinal Giacomo Antonelli. Interestingly, eight years earlier in Gloria

Chamberlin 13 Galdós had used this same nickname (for a bishop’s secretary) with the same implications: “murmuraron de la excesiva preponderancia del doctor Sedeño en los consejos de su ilustrísimo, y hubo quien, por mote, llamó al leal servidor . . . le petit Antonelli” (I, x, 520). Thus one sees that two anticlerical authors (and personal friends) believed that the nickname would not only ring culturally true, but would have the effect each desired on the reader.32 At a time when not only the Spanish government, but also many of its citizens were deeply in debt, some novelists reflected this phenomenon by linking the two by means of the (then) contemporary financial term “Dueda flotante.”33 For example, in La Regenta Leopoldo Alas creates a family where the husband has the nickname “El barón de la deuda flotante,” the wife “la baronesa de la dueda flotante,” and the daughters “las de la deuda flotante” (Chamberlin, “Nicknames” 76-77). Three years later in the fourth part of Fortunata y Jacinta Galdós’s character Juan Pablo Rubín is “apretado por el crecimiento aterrador de su dueda flotante.” Moreover, a solution to his “dueda flotante” is challenging enough to merit recourse to “la casa de Rothschild, por otro nombre su tía” (IV, iii, 8: 401). Thus to Doña Lupe’s moneylending, lower-class apodo of “la de los pavos,”34 Juan Pablo adds a new one: “la baronesa de Rothschild” (IV, iii, 8: 403). Galdós, who knew Baron Rothschild’s personal representative in Madrid (Ignacio Bauer), also had Eloísa Bueno de Guzmán in Lo prohibido very appropriately say, “Yo me acuesto pensando que soy la baronesa de Rothschild” (I, vi, I: 1707). Moreover, one of Eloísa’s lovers (whom Galdós had originally created for La familia de León Roch) carries the surname of an international banking house: el Marqués de Fúcar. Thus it is clear that Galdós believed that the patronymics of international bankers could strike a responsive chord with his readers, and he repeatedly used such names. Finally, although the sobriquet “la baronesa de Rothschild” is used only by Juan Pablo Rubín, it is of additional interest because its association with the “deuda flotante” reveals yet another nickname-based affinity with Alas’s artistry in La Regenta. Conclusions

Our study has shown that Galdós had great knowledge of mythological, legendary, and historical personages stretching across a vast expanse of time and geography, which he utilized in creating nicknames for his characters. Such nicknames served a variety of purposes. For example, they may be a recording of popular culture (“Júpiter tonante” for coughing in Fortunata y Jacinta or “Apolo” for handsomeness in Casandra). Also they may intensify suspense and contribute to a horror-filled denouement (“Robespier” in El audaz). Sometimes the identification is meant to be taken quite seriously as an aid in suggesting analogous negative traits in a Galdosian character (as is the case with Doña Cándida in El amigo Manso). More often, however, humor and irony are Galdos’s purpose. Overarching all such categories is Galdós’s concern for reader reception and author-reader bonding, all the while that his nicknames may be contributing to a fuller character delineation, not only of the recipient of the apodo—but also of the bestower.

The humorous and/or ironic bent of most of these sobriquets facilitates the creation of a sense of collusion and intimacy between the reader and the author at the expense of the

Chamberlin 14

nicknamed character, due to both the knowledge the reader received from the novel and the information he/she brought to the reading experience. Thus Galdós is quite skillful at cultivating the interest of the newly literate population by providing some information about the namesakes they might not have known. At the same time, however, he may leave out certain facts that link the characters to their namesakes that would be known only to the intellectual elite, thus rewarding the latter with the pleasure of discovery and a resultant feeling of superiority. Thus clearly Galdós’s novels are much enriched by his artistry in working creatively with mythological, legendary, and historical-based nicknames.

UNIVERSITY OF KANSAS

Chamberlin 15

NOTES 1 These studies are Varey, “Francisco Bringas: nuestro buen Thiers”; Gilman, “Las

referencias clásicas”; Chamberlin, “Verosimilitud y humorismo”; “Galdós’s Critique”; “Echoes”; and “Cultural Nicknames.”

2 Nicknames derived from historical personages discussed in the above-mentioned studies are “Licurgo” in Doña Perfecta (Gilman); “Thiers” in Tormento and La de Bringas (Varey); “Sardanápolo” en La desheredada” (Chamberlin. “Cultural Nicknames”); “Platón” in Fortunata y Jacinta (Chamberlin, “Galdós’s Critique”): and “Rossini” in Fortunata y Jacinta (Chamberlin “Echoes”). (Gilman does not mention that the nickname “Licurgo” recurs thirty-five years later in La primera república, where it is the only appellation for a character with whom the narrator/protagonist chats briefly: “Recordé en él a uno de los maestros masónicos con quienes tomé café en el de las Columnas [ . . . ]. Era el que en Masonería llevaba el nombre simbólico de Licurgo [XI, 1120]).

3 For details of the life and time of Ramses II, see Velikovsky. 4 The new nickname is “El señor de Miau.” For details, see Chamberlin, “Social

Darwinism” (299-305) and Braun, “The Epithet” (307-18). 5 In Crónica del desamor a different aspect of the Egyptian Pharoh is emphasized. The

employees in the editorial office of a printing establishment nickname the manager “‘Ramsés’ [ . . . ] por lo mucho que manda” (38). Repeatedly “Ramsés viene a vigilar el trabajo de sus esclavos” (38, 40).

6 Although Centeno had responded with strong emotional enthusiasm to passages from “El Grande Osuna,” Miquis thinks to himself, “Tú eres un pobre bruto y no entiendes de esto” (II, ii, 3: 1398); therefore, his telling Centeno “Eres un sabio y debías llamarte Aristóteles” cannot be considered sincere. The predecent for bestowing insincere nicknames on Centeno had been initiated early on in the novel by Pedro Polo with his dunce cap’s sarcastic inscription: “El doctor Centeno” (I, ii, 5: 1319). The latter became the source for the oft-repeated remoquete “Doctor” and “Doctorcillo” (I, ii, 6: 1319 and passim).

7 It is a pleasure to thank Linda Willem for suggesting that the selection of a particular sobriquet may reveal important information concerning the nickname’s bestower.

8 In his first novel, La Fontana de Oro, Galdós had already demonstrated a successful use of the appellation “Agamemnon.” This occurs in Calleja’s barbershop, as the owner’s corpulent wife stops her husband from slashing Gil de Carrascosa with a razor. She is compared to Minerva, as she stops “Aquiles” from striking “el Agnememnon de la covachuela” (I, 17).

9 For details concerning the legendary father and daughter, see “Agamemnon” “35,” and “Electra” (517).

10 The formal name of this Roman emperor was Gaius Julius. “Caligula” (little booter) was the affectionate nickname bestowed upon him as a boy by Roman soldiers when he wore military boots as he accompanied his father-emperor. For more on Caligula’s cruel, tumultuous reign, see “Gaius Julius” (619-20).

11 For a discussion concerning how the attributes and ideas of Marcus Aurelius are more appropriate to the characterization of Máximo Manso, see Price (242-43).

12 Galdós again used the nickname “Juan y Medio” in Tristana. Don Lope accuses Tristana of having a lover, “[Y]a sé que tienes un novio ahí en Tetuán, ese que

Chamberlin 16

llaman Juan y Medio por lo largo que es [ . . . ].” Tristana responds, “Yo no tengo nada con Juan y Medio” (XI, 176).

13 It was said that when Spain’s Ministro de Hacienda was persuaded to come to Spain from England to take charge of the country’s chaotic finances, he changed his surname from Méndez to Mendizábal. Galdós communicates this allegation by giving the owner of the pensión which lodges Fernando Calpena the nickname “Mendizábal.” The latter explains:

No es que me llamo propiamente Mendizábal. Mi apellido es Méndez. Pero como el señor don Juan de Dios Alvárez y Méndez, el grande hombre que ha venido de Inglaterra a meternos en cintura y a salvar al país, se ha variado el nombre, poniéndose Mendizábal, que tan bien suena [ . . . ]. En fin, como mis compañeros de oficina ven en mí a un partidario furibundo del señor ministro nuevo, me han puesto el remoquete de Mendizábal y así me dejo llamar, y me río . . . me río. (I, 422)

Further, Galdós’s “Mendizábal” is not only the portero at the Ministerio de Hacienda,

but he also imagines that he might even be a relative of the Finance Minister (I, 422). 14 For details of his harsh rule in Cuba, see “Tacón y Rosique” (1477). 15 For the accomplishments of this famous Roman orator and statesman, see “Tullius

Cicero” (1558). 16 In her fine study “Los demonios de Galdós,” Lieve Behiels points out that likely sources

for Galdós’s knowledge concerning demons would have been Collin de Plancy, Dictionnaire infernal and Jean Mamert Cayla, Le diable, sa grandeur et décadence. Galdós owned a personal copy of the latter (94).

17 In El buey suelto Pereda’s narrator says that each of the village’s four bachelors has a nickname: “Anás,” “Caifás,” “Herodes,” and “Pilato,” adding only “yo no sé por qué” (III, 29).

18 An example of the intense opprobrium that the name Caifás could evoke in nineteenth-century Spain may be seen in Casandra as Rogelio expresses his feeling concerning his stepmother: “Doña Juana es el diablo mismo, con una cresta de plumas blancas robadas al cielo. Su dentadura postiza es la que tenía Saturna para masticar bien a sus hijos. Calza las pantuflas que usaba Caifás para andar por casa” (II, iii, 146). Also in La desheredada “La Sanguijuelera” says concerning Isidora’s brother Mariano. “Es más malo que Anás y Caifás juntos. [ . . . ] Yo le llamo Pecado, porque parece que ha venido al mundo por obra y gracia del diablo” (I, ii, 1:41).

19 These characters are the priest Silvestre Romero (I,xxxii,569); Gloria’s father, Juan de la Lantigua (I, xiii, 550 and passim); Gloria’s uncle, Don Angel de Lantigua (I, xxiv, 551); Gloria (I, xxiv, 550 and passim); and Daniel Morton (II, x, 612). When speaking of “Caifás,” characters express their feelings toward José Mundideo, not primarily through his nickname, but by adding other words to it. For example, Romero says, “es mucho pájaro aquel Caifás,” to which Gloria, who repeatedly uses “pobre Caifás,” reacts with indignation (I, xxii, 569). Daniel Morton, an outsider and a Jew, uses “Caifás” only on one occasion—as a spontaneous signal of recognition. Then he switches to a sincerely affectionate “José” in direct address (I, xii, 612).

20 After Pilate has washed his hands, only Matthew’s Gospel records a shout form the Jewish crowd: “His blood be on us and on our children” (XXVII, 25). This passages is

Chamberlin 17

one of sources of the notion of a collective Jewish guilt for the Crucifixtion. (Consequently, in Mel Gibson’s 2004 film Passion of the Christ, when asked to remove this verse from his film, he did delete it from the English subtitles—but not from the original Aramaic, where he has Caiaphas himself utter the curse).

21 For example, the moneylender is not a Jew, but rather the Christian mayor. Further, the Inquisition’s color of opprobrium is not bestowed on the Jew, but on the Christian mayor Juan Amarillo and his wife. For details, see Chamberlin, “Galdós’s Use of Yellow” (158-63).

22 The Gospel accounts concerning Caiaphas are Mathew 26:3 and 57-65; John 11:49-52; Mark 14:52-56; Luke 22:54-71.

23 “El Gran Constantino” is a most appropriate mote for the church-protecting, mannish Petronila Rianzares in La Regenta. For details see Chamberlin, “Nicknames” (78-79).

24 Torquemada explains:

Yo conocía y trataba al imagen del apóstol como a mis mejores amigos, porque fuí mayordomo de la cofradía del que él era patrono [ . . . ] San Pedro es patrono de los pescadores; pero como no hay hombres de mar en Madrid, nos congregábamos para darle culto los prestamistas, que, en cierto modo, también somos gentes de pesca.” (II, v, 1, 1158)

25 For a painting of Christ handing the keys to Peter, as well as its doctrinal explanation,

see “Keys, Power of” (162-63). 26 In Fortunata y Jacinta the narrator says concerning a servant girl, “Nombrábase Patricia,

pero Torquemada la llamaba Patria, pues era hombre tan económico que ahorraba hasta las letras, y era muy amigo de las abreviaturas, por ahorrar saliva cuando hablaba y tinta cuando escribía” (II, vii, 1: 658). The apodo “Patria” adds nothing to the characterization of the servant girl, but it certainly reinforces the notion of the moneylender’s stinginess.

27 Physical appearance is the point of departure for Rogelio’s bestowing nicknames on two members of his mother’s tertulia. One gentleman, “por su calva amarilla y enorme,” becomes “Laín Calvo”; another, “afeitado y galante,” becomes “Nuño Rasura.” Further, “Las criadas repetían por lo bajo estos apodos [ . . . y la madre] se reía en secreto, aunque aparentaba enfado” (Morriña III, 208). Laín Calvo and Nuño Rasura are honored by statues in Burgos, because they were the first elected Castilian magistrates during a brief republican period in the tenth century. For details, see “Calvo (Laín)” (952-53). and “Nuño Rasura” (1).

28 For more on Spain’s first guerrillero, see “Viriato” (329-30). 29 For details concerning the warrior king who initiated the reconquest of Spain from the

Moors, see “Pelayo” (22-25). 30 For a copy of the painting El entierro del Conde Orgaz, as well as a discussion of its

elongated faces, see Peláez Malagón (1-9). 31 Galdós had already begun playing with and counting on reader response concerning

the appellation “Robespierre” in his previous novel. In La Fontana de Oro, whose eponymous cafe is a nightly gathering place for anti-establishment liberals, the moniker “Robespierre” belongs to the owner’s cat. “Era un gato prudente, que jamás interrumpía la discusión, ni se permitía maullar ni derribar ninguna botella en los momentos críticos. Este gato se llamaba Robespierre” (19). This name is quite

Chamberlin 18

appropriate considering the ambience and the political matters discussed. And “Robespierre” is still present in the same cafe in El Grande Oriente (written sixteen years later), when he climbs upon the lap of the liberal Campos (“Cicerón”), and “Uno y otro se acariciaron” (XVI, 1423).

32 Even such a strong Catholic as the Jesuit Father Luis Coloma, the author of Pequeñeces, had a very negative opinion of Cardinal Antonelli (Benítez 96, n. 6).

33 “Deuda flotante” was a derogatory reference to the official Deuda Pública, which was allowed to “float” and oscillated with little market value (Oleza, II, 367, n. 7).

34 For the origin of and details concerning the sobriquet “La de los pavos,” see Chamberlin, “Cultural Nicknames” (25).

Chamberlin 19

WORKS CITED “Agamemnon.” Oxford Classical Dictionary. 3rd ed. 2003. Alas, Leopoldo. La Regenta. Ed. Juan Oleza. Madrid: Cátedra, 1987. “Aristotle.” Oxford Classical Dictionary. 3rd ed. 2003. “Apollo.” World Book Encyclopedia. 1967. Behiels, Lieve. “Los demonios de Benito Pérez Galdós.” Actas del XIII Congreso de la

Asociación Internacional de Hispanistas. Vol. 2. Madrid 1998. Eds. Florencio Sevilla y Carlos Alvar. Madrid: Castalia, 2002. 94-102.

Benítez, Rubén. La literatura española en las obras de Galdós. Murcia: Universidad de Murcia, 1992.

Braun, Lucille. “The Epithet ‘Miau’ as Structural and Thematic Element.” Romance Quarterly 35 (1988): 307-18.

“Calvo (Laín).” Enciclopedia Universal Ilustrada—Europea-Americana (1907-30). “Cato.” The World Book Encyclopedia. 1966. Chamberlin, Vernon. “Cultural Nicknames: An Important Feature of Galdós’s Art.”

Decimonónica. 1 (2004):16-32. ---. “Galdós’s Use of Yellow in Character Delineation.” PMLA 79 (1964): 158-63: rpt. The

Perils of Interpreting Fortunata’s Dream and Other Studies in Galdós: 1961-2002. Newark, Delaware, 2002. 29-38.

---. “Idealism Versus Reality: Galdós’s Critique of Platonism in Fortunata y Jacinta.” Hispania 67 (1984): 43-51; rpt. “The Perils of Interpreting Fortunata’s Dream” and Other Studies in Galdós: 1961-2004. Newark, Delaware: Juan de la Cuesta, 2002. 142-55.

---. “Nicknames as Artistic Technique in La Regenta.” Anales Galdosianos 34 (1999): 75-88. ---. “New Insights Regarding the Creation and Character Delineation of Maxi Rubín and

Plácido Estupiñá in Fortunata y Jacinta.” Anales Galdosianos 36 (2001): 99-110; rpt. “The Perils of Interpreting Fortunata’s Dream” and Other Studies in Galdós: 1961-2004. Newark, Delaware: Juan de la Cuesta, 2002. 67-80.

---. “Social Darwinism: An Unnoticed Aspect of Galdós’s Animal Imagery in Miau.” Romance Quarterly 35 (1988): 299-305; rpt. “The Perils of Interpreting Fortunata’s Dream” and Other Studies in Galdós: 1961-2002. Newark, Delaware: Juan de la Cuesta, 2002. 273-79.

De la Nuez, Sebastián. Biblioteca y archivo de la Casa Museo Pérez Galdós. Las Palmas: Cabildo Insular de Gran Canaria, 1990.

“Electra.” Oxford Classical Dictionary. 3rd ed. 2003. Finkenthal, Stanley. El teatro de Galdós. Madrid: Editorial Fundamentos: 1980. 136-37. “Gaius Julius.” Oxford Classical Dictionary. 3rd ed. 2003. “Keys, Power of.” New Catholic Encyclopedia. 2nd ed. 2003. “Lepe.” Enciclopedia Universal Ilustrada—Europeo-Americana (1907-30). Miller, Stephen, ed. Las Canarias. [Pencil sketches by Galdós]. Las Palmas: Ediciones del

Cabildo de Gran Canaria, 2001. Moliner, María. Diccionario de uso del español. 2 vols. Madrid: Gredos. 1961. Montero, Rosa. Crónica del desamor. Madrid: Editorial Debate, 1984. “Nuño Rasura.” 1911 Encyclopedia “Love to Know.”

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